


Work That Sickens

by MagieFish



Series: Abstraction [3]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Body Horror, Death, Gen, Once more I crawl out of my hole to post poetry, Poetry, This time for the ink Demonth because I didn’t feel like drawing something for today, Vomiting, minor gore, or I did but I didn’t have enough confidence to :D, this is basically just grant’s descent into madness in poetry form, yup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagieFish/pseuds/MagieFish
Summary: Through the haze of thoughts and whispers in earsThe dry throat and the water clearThe numbers swirl and the skin sickensSickens with the veins that blacken and thicken———————————————————————————For the Ink Demonth day 3 prompt: work
Series: Abstraction [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1585996
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Work That Sickens

Through the tick of the clocks and the fear of knocks

The thrum of the pipes and the dim of the light’s

The pen shall scratch and the nails will claw

Claw at skin until it is red and raw

The eyes will search and the stomach will lurch

The mind will cower as tock pass the hours

There is no solution in the numbers

Numbers that will ever keep from slumber

Spill goes the ink and vomit they think

The teeth fill with guilt and the water is spilt

They make themselves leave because they say

‘I will live to work another day’

Through the haze of thoughts and whispers in ears

The dry throat and the water clear

The numbers swirl and the skin sickens

Sickens with the veins that blacken and thicken

The hand will reach and the feet will stumble

The glass fills black inside a wall that crumbles

They tilt back their head as their tongue recoils

Recoils from chemical taste and black as oil

But the flesh is hooked and the throat is wet

The disgust that fills is ignored by them yet

They feel a wrong deep inside, but still they will say

‘I will live to work another day’

They are frantic as the numbers become all they think

Formula’s and scratching and weeping between each drink

They swear their mind is too crowed, trapped by a web

A web made by something trapped inside his head

Their friends-gangs mouths become waterfalls of concern

They demand he leaves and lets this company-home burn

Both they’re thoughts are bound to these halls

Halls where they walk from them for the veins in the walls

They know it is wrong but their body feels flawed

They should have more hands to write, move on the floor

They suppress these thoughts and compulsions and to them they say

‘I will live to work another day’

They do not know when they last saw and felt the sun

But they don’t need the sun anyway, only the dark

The dark of the corners, the dark of their veins

The veins set against the skin so thin and grey

They still get new numbers slipped beneath the door

The door they know is locked, they checked it before

Before the mechanic came and freed up the pipe

The pipe they always watch from the corner of their eye

Puddles form within their mouth and pool behind their tired eyes

Tired eyes that scan the page and continue to ask why

Why they stay for these empty equations, but their hazy mind still says

‘I will live to work another day’

Their skin is falling off in clumps, what will Joey say?

All they bleed is blackened blood, drowning in blackened debt

They don’t sleep, they need to be awake for numbers not counting sheep

They cannot solve the equations, they think as they throw up

Finally the door opens, and they squint with eyes no longer made for the light

They try to ask for help with the equation, but gurgle and spit instead

A sharp glint, a hard blow, a leaking scream, a sigh of defeat

They hope they remember the formula’s as their soul is eaten

Their body is wrong, too stretchy, too short, too many limbs

And yet it feels right at last, and they are happy to see their work again

But as they reach up and write on the walls, they find they can longer say

‘I will live to work another day’


End file.
